<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Millstone by supposed2bfunny</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463793">The Millstone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposed2bfunny/pseuds/supposed2bfunny'>supposed2bfunny</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gorillaz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Minor 2doc, Mostly Murdoc-centric, Plastic Beach Trauma, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Takes place after The Lost Chord, plastic beach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:13:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,931</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/supposed2bfunny/pseuds/supposed2bfunny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "The Lost Chord," Murdoc struggles to come to terms with himself, the damage he has inflicted on his band, and how they can still accept him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Murdoc Niccals/Stuart "2D" Pot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>101</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Millstone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Did "The Lost Chord" music video inspire me to come out of a months-long writing hiatus when I haven't written for Gorillaz in half a year? Yes, yes it did.</p>
<p>This fic contains 2doc, but it's background noise here. The focus is really on Murdoc's relationship to the band as a whole.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all comes back so quickly, the most overwhelming aspect of Plastic Beach isn’t the garish pink color, or the sound of the waves and the screeching of the gulls: it’s the smell.</p>
<p>The smell of rot.</p>
<p>It hits him so hard that saliva rushes to his mouth and he’s certain for a moment that he’ll be sick.</p>
<p>And then the tactile sensation: the wetness of the salt air as waves slap against the tiny island from every angle ceaselessly. It leaves him covered in gooseflesh at once.</p>
<p>The input from the smell he can taste, the sound of the waves, and the cold wetness, it’s like a seizure that he’s conscious through, and his mind short circuits with the reality that he’s back and everything is burning.</p>
<p>The smell of the rotting garbage is even worse once it ignites, and the black smoke that plumes around them is viscous as snot, like breathing hot tar, like inhaling decomposing hunks of flesh.</p>
<p>Worst of all is the fact that 2D, Noodle, and Russel are there enduring it as well.</p>
<p>A shimmering portal opens back up as the spire of the lighthouse begins to sink into the ocean and Plastic Beach breaks off into toasted heaps of charred plastic: millions of water bottles, grocery bags, fishing nets, and the carcasses of endless crabs and tiny fish. Hunks of it sink at once, sending up larger waves which then take out the remaining bits of the island.</p>
<p>Murdoc moves on autopilot, scaling the top of the lighthouse and hoisting up Noodle, Russel, and then 2D as the portal reveals itself, just up above, out of their reach. It’ll take a powerful leap to enter it.</p>
<p>The saltwater is slapping his boots when Russel grabs Noodle’s arm and jumps, clearing the portal. As soon as it processes that bodies are moving through it, it begins to close up, and Murdoc screams a dry “go, go, go!” to 2D, not really sure whether or not the man can hear him over the wail of the gulls and the crackling of the flames.</p>
<p>2D leaps and clears the portal as it shrinks shut, and before Murdoc can get the momentum he needs to run and jump after them, it closes.</p>
<p>He holds out his hands, staring numbly at the empty air through which his bandmates have just disappeared.</p>
<p>For just a moment, the pain is so great he nearly leaps right into the water beneath him.</p>
<p>Then it sinks in: all three of them are alive. They’re safe now, and as this piece of shit burns, it’ll never be able to hurt them again. Biting back his fear, Murdoc clenches his fists and begins to look around, ever-ready self-preservation instincts kicking in. There has to be some way to come out of this, there has to be some way to survive.</p>
<p>This can’t be it. He’s Murdoc <em>Fucking</em> Niccals, there has to be remnants of a boat, some driftwood, anything—</p>
<p>With a flash of light, the portal that had just vanished reappears, and 2D is there, long arm extended, urging Murdoc to jump to him.</p>
<p>He came back.</p>
<p>Laughing manically in his glee, Murdoc throws out his arms. It’s a stretch for sure, but he feels no doubt that as he jumps, 2D will catch him.</p>
<p>And he does.<br/>
<br/>
Their hands lock, and 2D grins, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in his concentration. He leans back into the portal as he attempts to pull Murodc back in with him.</p>
<p>But Murdoc is heavier than he anticipated, and 2D has nothing to grip onto or ground himself, and he careens forward.</p>
<p>“No!” Murdoc screams, and 2D’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm as he gasps, struggling to right himself, pulling back hard.</p>
<p>From further back in the portal, Murdoc is able to make out Noodle, and she reaches forward with wild eyes, grabbing 2D and pulling him towards her.</p>
<p>Their combined strength is still not enough, and like an anchor, Murdoc continues to weigh them in his direction, yanking them out of the portal and towards the smoke-filled detritus and roiling waters.</p>
<p>An old phrase his father used once, <em>my kids are real millstones around my neck</em>, returns to him, and he envisions himself, as ever-present as his own upside-down cross, swinging around the necks of his bandmates, a heavy stone pressed to their throats.</p>
<p>Russel appears behind Noodle, recognizing what’s happening and grabbing for her. He’s always been the muscle of the band, hoisting the three of them up into his arms at once in happier days. If anyone can heave them all back into the portal and to safety, it’s him.</p>
<p>Yet he too loses his momentum and starts to careen forward out of the portal, even as he struggles to pull them all back.</p>
<p>“2D,” Murdoc shouts up to him over the din, “let go of me! I’m dragging you all down!”</p>
<p>The singer gapes at him as though he doesn’t understand him, or maybe he still can’t hear him. “Let me go!” he repeats, louder, desperate. They’re losing the struggle: before long they’ll all be out of the portal, tumbling backwards into the water.</p>
<p>The hope that had exploded in his chest at the sight of 2D has been replaced by terror, and he tries to loosen his grip, realizing that his fingers are frozen in place grasping the man’s hand. Maddeningly, he feels the singer’s hand squeeze still tighter against him, feels the strain in the muscles running up his arm as he struggles to pull Murdoc up and through.</p>
<p>It’s useless: as though an invisible sea monster is reaching up out of the sea’s depths and pulling Murdoc downwards, his body continues to slide back despite the fight all three bandmates are putting up, and the more he screams at them to <em>just let him go, let go dammit</em>, they don’t stop, don’t stop trying.</p>
<p>He looks past the singer, hoping he can convince Noodle or Russel to communicate to 2D that it’s no good, he’s not meant to leave this wretched place, and that’s when he sees him. Somehow through the whirring portal and the straining bandmates and the black smoke billowing around them, he makes out the figure standing behind Russel in the depths of the portal.</p>
<p>The Boogieman.</p>
<p>There’s no mistaking the huge goggles, the long sharp nose; it’s him, he knows it’s him.</p>
<p>Years ago, he’d felt less certain that he knew who the Boogieman was. He’d convinced himself that he was an otherworldly being he’d made a contract with in order to ensure his safety while producing the Plastic Beach album. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d always known that the old spook was more than a stranger he’d met in one of his visits to Hell or to the liminal spaces between the lines that marked Good and Evil, Life and Death, Inebriation and Sobriety. Oftentimes he’d dreamt that when the Boogieman unclasped the mask he wore, it was the gnarled face of Sebastian Jacob that looked at him, gaunt and seedy and smug.</p>
<p>Now, as he focuses on the mask looming over Russel’s shoulder, he realizes that he recognizes the eyes that look back at him through the thick glass goggles.</p>
<p>The heterochromatic irises are unmistakable.</p>
<p>“It’s me,” he rasps, beginning to shake his arm all the more frantically, trying to dislodge 2D. “Behind you! It’s me! Run!”</p>
<p>It’s too late. There is a gleeful spark in the Boogieman’s eye as he shoves Russel from behind, and it’s a slow motion domino effect from there, the alarm in Russel’s eyes as he flies forward, then shocked expression that convulses through Noodle’s face as she loses the support that had been pulling her back, as Russel knocks into her.</p>
<p>2D is the last one to recognize that their human chain has failed, and he doesn’t bother looking behind him, just frowns at Murdoc, mouths something that could be “I’m sorry,” and then all three of them are tumbling out of the portal.</p>
<p>Gravity snaps around them like a mousetrap, and all four of them scream as the weight of Murdoc’s past drags them down into the waves, which still teem with bicycles and window panes and sheets of metal that were once a music studio.</p>
<p>The water is freezing: no one ever expects it to be so cold, but it’s like an ice bath compared to the fires that still smolder around them.</p>
<p>Rotting, melting garbage flavor mingles with saltwater and enters Murdoc’s mouth, his nose, pours into every orifice and he claws and struggles against debris and seaweed, desperate to find his bandmates, to guide them to a piece of driftwood, to anything that can float that hasn’t melted. As ash snows down around them, it becomes obvious that it’s no use; as the lighthouse crumbles, it sends waves crashing around them, and they’re too high, he’s losing the fight to keep his head above water, and then he loses sense of which way is up or down. What lasts for probably a couple of seconds feels more like hours as he reels, losing sense of where his bandmates are, then losing sense of where the water’s surface is.</p>
<p>All he knows is the taste of death as he spirals into the grave he will share with the family that tried to save him, only to drown.</p>
<p>He screams.</p>
<p>And screams and screams and screams.</p>
<p>“Murdoc!”</p>
<p>The Boogieman materializes beside him underwater, screaming right into his ear, grabbing at his shoulders. “Murdoc!”</p>
<p>Strangely, his voice sounds a lot like 2D’s.</p>
<p>“Murdoc!”</p>
<p>“No!” Murdoc snaps awake, gasping for air and looking around wildly. The first thing he notices is that he doesn’t smell the decay of Plastic Beach, or any salt water at all for that matter. All he can smell is the familiar tang of Lucky Lungs: 2D’s brand of choice for stress-induced chain smoking.</p>
<p>He’s soaking wet, but it’s with his own sweat, not seawater. Slowly he looks around, taking in the dim lights of the TV room in Kong 2.0…their home.</p>
<p>“Another bad dream?” 2D’s voice is against his ear, making him jump. “Sorry, sorry.”</p>
<p>Murdoc shifts, still panting, trying to peel his damp shirt off of his clammy skin. He’s lying on the couch, the same one he once curled up against and cried months ago when they were still releasing their hits for Song Machine. 2D is pressed up behind him so he’s effectively wedged between the back of the couch and the singer. Now, 2D shifts up into a sitting position to give him more room to gather his wits and breathe.</p>
<p>“A dream,” he repeats, looking at 2D’s face, the frown lines around his mouth, which have grown more pronounced over the years. He’s not quite ready for eye contact yet, and the singer doesn’t try to force it from him, looking at Murdoc’s messy hair, his heaving shoulders. “Yeah…another dream.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry it scared you,” 2D says quietly, raising a hand to touch Murdoc, second-guessing himself, letting it hover, huge and ineffective, in the air between them. Murdoc would like very much to reach out and grab it, to feel the weight of those long slim fingers and the canyon-sized palm against him, but then he remembers the way he pulled 2D downwards in his dream, and he decides against it, glaring until the singer takes his hand back with a sigh. “How can I help?”</p>
<p>“Wasn’t scared,” he snaps. Lies.</p>
<p>Before he can start babbling, filling the room with words to replace the images and the screams from his nightmare, he hears someone else enter the room, and turns to find Noodle in the doorway, cigarette dangling from her fingers. So she’s the one chain-smoking then.</p>
<p>“I had Russel put the kettle on. You want Earl Grey, or that pumpkin spice stuff that 2D bought?”</p>
<p>“Pumpkin spice,” they both answer simultaneously, and she makes a face that could be fondness were it not soured by exhaustion, worry, and the sort of reflection that Noodle’s had in her eyes since she was about thirteen, a world-weariness that Murdoc has never fully understood.</p>
<p>“Okay, we’ll bring the mugs in. Russel’s pick for movie night.”</p>
<p>“If he makes us watch another Spike Lee flick, I’ll stage a coup to revoke his movie-picking privileges,” Murdoc grouses.</p>
<p>“I thought you liked Spike Lee?” 2D responds.</p>
<p>“I do, but variety is what keeps an artist fresh, and someone needs to introduce that notion to Russ, because his palette is becoming more limited than a spoiled child—”</p>
<p>“You do know I can hear you loud and clear, right?” Russel’s voice rings out from the kitchen, which is only just down the hall.</p>
<p>2D chuckles. “Busted!”</p>
<p>It’s playful. It almost feels normal. Except that Murdoc isn’t quite sure he believes in that possibility anymore, because the dream keeps coming back, and each time it’s as real as it was when they stood on the pink shores once again and he had to see their expressions flicker with recognition, and then disbelief, and then dread.</p>
<p>“Murdoc,” Noodle says, lifting her cigarette to her lips. They’re chapped. There was a day that Noodle worried a lot more about her appearance. “Like you, I don’t think that we can detach ourselves from who we once were. You only get one soul, and it bears the colors of every canvas you’ve ever stepped across. But you are here right now, stains and all. You’ll miss the movie if you keep your eyes trained on what’s behind you.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t wait for a response, simply turns on her heel and retreats into the kitchen to help Russel carry out four mugs of steaming tea, and then the drummer returns to the kitchen once more and emerges with two enormous bowls of microwave popcorn, loaded with chocolate peanut butter candies, just like they all like. Murdoc never used to be much of a sweet tooth, but spending twenty years of his life within arm’s reach of 2D has changed a couple of things.</p>
<p>He listens to Russel’s soft praise of Noodle, “that’s some deep shit, Noods. You’re always speaking from the heart.” Then he listens to the movie begin, and no one complains when he sinks back down against the couch rather than watch it, even though it is in fact not a Spike Lee film this time.</p>
<p>The first night after they’d revisited and narrowly escaped Plastic Beach through the mysterious portal system, he had wanted to be alone. Only the lock on his door in Kong 2.0 had never really worked, and so 2D had let himself in and slept with his impossibly long limbs draped around Murdoc. Maybe he hadn’t slept. His breathing had been fairly even though, like somehow in the years since he’s first stepped foot on that horrible island, he’d become stronger than it. Or maybe it was just all that deep breathing crap he’d gotten into when he’d discovered yoga and meditation. Either way, Murdoc had tolerated his presence.</p>
<p>Then the entire band had begun to pressure Murdoc to rejoin them. And so, the movie nights. He tried hard not to resent the forced socialization for being contrived. After all, how long had he wanted his band to invite him into their circle like this? What did it matter if it was out of genuine affection or pity? Attention was attention, that had always been Murdoc’s motto.</p>
<p>He sighs heavily and then instantly regrets it, knowing that he’s distracting them from the movie.</p>
<p>Nobody complains. There’s the slurp of Russel taking a deep sip from his Earl Grey, across the room in his overstuffed armchair. The tap of Noodle’s heel against the side of the couch: she perches on one arm, not complaining when 2D and Murdoc take the whole thing up lying across it. Even with his eyes closed, Murdoc can visualize them all together in the room, three sets of eyes watching <em>Moonlight</em> and eating popcorn as their tea cools.</p>
<p>After a few minutes, 2D shifts, so he’s lying behind Murdoc, spooning him against the couch with his back to the television.</p>
<p>“Watch the movie, Dents,” he murmurs into the back of the couch.</p>
<p>“I’m good,” 2D answers, mouth against the back of his neck. Murdoc shivers at the sensation in spite of himself. They lie there for a while before Murdoc works up the nerve to ask what has been bothering him since he woke up. Every night since he's woken up in his bed rather than on a piece of driftwood.</p>
<p>“Why did you come back?” he asks.</p>
<p>The main character in the movie Russel picked out goes by the nickname “Little.” He hides from bullies in a crackhouse. Noodle ashes her cigarette. The pumpkin spice tea grows still cooler. 2D breathes that slow, meditative breath, one hand resting on Murdoc’s back. He doesn't need to ask what Murdoc is referring to.</p>
<p>“I’ll always come back, we’re a family.” He says at length. “I did what I did because it was the right thing to do.”</p>
<p>“But mate, I’m not right,” he says, and the moisture from his breath is making the fabric of the grimy old couch damp and gross. He doesn’t pull away though. “Is it doing the right thing to turn back for a sot like me? Or does that counteract the goodness of your intentions?”</p>
<p>“You’re an ass,” 2D agrees. “Still love you, though. You’ve caused a lot of problems. But you still write lyrics that make me wanna cry they’re so bloody honest. I watched you lock me in a dungeon on that fucking island, Murdoc. And a few days ago, I watched you pull us all to safety so we could get off of it. I’ve known you for twenty years, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped babying me: I’m not as smart as you, but I know the world isn’t black and white, and you’re the grayest person I’ve ever met.”</p>
<p>“More green, really,” Russel interjects. “But the point still stands. 2D’s opinion is important, but Gorillaz is a democracy. You’re still here because all of us agreed that we still want you here, Muds. You don’t have to grovel and beg for forgiveness. Just be present once again. Be here with us. Like Noodle said, we've seen your colors, all of them. We also know the man you are now, stains and all.”</p>
<p>“I have this darkness in me though," he says, instantly resenting how melodramatic he sounds. He just can't shake the vision of the Boogieman, his face in that mask. Pushing them all into the water..."It’s more than just bad, I'm supernaturally evil. I could still drag you all down—”</p>
<p>“Been there, done that,” Noodle says dryly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the only way we get through these things is together. We came together for a reason when band formed, we stay together for a reason too.”</p>
<p>“But…you idiots don’t understand—”</p>
<p>He’s cut off when 2D kisses the back of his neck, and it’s instantaneous: there are tears in his eyes. He never used to be such a crybaby, not in public at least.</p>
<p>“We do. You’re the one who’s refusing to understand. We know you, Murdoc. We know you. And we’re still here. We accept you. Just accept us already, won’t you? Quit the self-pity and eat some popcorn.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t move; he just lies there, breathing, feeling 2D breathe with him. Belatedly, it dawns on him that 2D has said aloud that he loves him. Russel and Noodle know they’ve been on-again, off-again for years, but he wonders if they knew how deep their feelings ran. He can’t thank them. He’s not strong enough to turn to them and offer his watery face up for the flickering lights of the television screen.</p>
<p>So he does the best thing he can think to do, which is to relax his shoulders slightly. 2D feels the way he relaxes, and he gives him a brief squeeze.</p>
<p>“I’m going to watch the movie, okay?” the singer asks. Murdoc nods and lets him sit up, crunch his snack loudly, comment on the songs played throughout the film.</p>
<p>It’s a relief when, halfway through, Murdoc sits up and no one says anything or draws attention to his presence. 2D slumps against him after a few minutes, passes a mug of lukewarm tea into his hands. It’s still pretty tasty though, artificially flavored and cloyingly sweet in a way that he once hated, and now enjoys in moderation.</p>
<p>With the couch no longer occupied by long legs and feet, Noodle eventually slinks off the arm and sits on the cushion beside Murdoc. Shadows stretch long and flickery along the walls, and if he lets his mind wander, Murdoc imagines they look something like black smoke billowing along the room.</p>
<p>Only there’s no fire, no water and no screaming gulls. As the movie winds down, the protagonist shedding names and identities as he progresses along, no portals open up. It’s just the four of them, curled up together in some semblance of cohesion.</p>
<p>Murdoc’s hand snakes its way between 2D’s arm and his side, his fingers hook into the hollow of the singer’s elbow. This is not the euphoria of acceptance that Murdoc dreamt of as a child, sneaking swigs of his father’s gin when he was out of the house. There is little force behind this dark, peaceful evening, it’s all stillness and stale cigarette smoke. In this inertia, Murdoc recognizes something: he doesn’t need to be catapulting forward or falling backwards around these three; all he needs to do is exist.</p>
<p>It isn’t epiphany. It is simply a start.</p>
<p>“Good choice of movie, Russel,” he finally says as the end credits roll.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he smiles without looking away from the screen. “You can choose the next one.”</p>
<p>“Same time tomorrow?” 2D asks, leaning further into him.</p>
<p>“I’ll have to look at my busy schedule,” he answers. “But I should be able to pencil you lot in. Just don’t expect me to make the popcorn, I don’t have a good relationship with microwaves.”</p>
<p>“Oh my god, the eggs in the microwave,” Noodle groans, putting her face in her hands dramatically. “Do you remember the smell that would linger on the tour bus?”</p>
<p>“Can’t be as bad as the time Muds snuck a dead rat onto the bus for some Satanic ritual or something and then forgot about it. And that was in August!” 2D pipes up. “I thought I’d never get that stench out of my nostrils!”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t August, it was April, because he wanted to perform the ritual on Easter Sunday, and I told the lunatic that it would cause riots if the press caught wind of that,” Russel corrected.</p>
<p>The three of them launch into a tirade of their best “Murdoc Stories,” laughing and shaking their heads in shame alternately. Pressing further into the singer, Murdoc allows himself to smile, basking in the fame of being known, accepted, by the only three people that matter to him. He has a hard time finding his voice, but for once, he doesn't worry about filling up all the gaps with the sound of his voice. These three know him well enough to fill the room with his presence, their memories often better than his.</p>
<p>In this dark room, they present pictures of his past, and move right onto the next story, like it's that easy. Maybe someday it will be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know this fic veers towards the sappy instead of being realistic and striking a darker tone at the end. But I don't really care: I need to end this year with a little hope, the same way the Gorillaz did.</p>
<p>If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading! Please consider leaving a comment to let me know what you thought! </p>
<p>Happy 2021, everyone! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>